


Got To Get You Into My Life - The Beatles

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drugs, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Humor, JUST, Literally no content to be seen, M/M, Multi, Napping, Sleepy Cuddles, blink and you'll miss it Lennstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Beatles are a little silly and loopy when they're high, but it doesn't change the fact that they love each other.If anything, it just exacerbates their love for each other. And their stupidity, but that's neither here, nor there, nor everywhere.~~~My entry for the BFPB Writing Party Prompt: Drugs. Hope you dig it!!
Relationships: Brian Epstein/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison/John Lennon, George Harrison/John Lennon/Paul McCartney/Ringo Starr, George Harrison/Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney/Ringo Starr
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Got To Get You Into My Life - The Beatles

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to EmSheshan for the awesome idea of a writing party!! I had an amazing time!! 
> 
> Prompt was my idea though. ;)

“I think I’m dying,” Ringo mumbled, waving his hand slowly in front of his own face and hitting himself with it on accident, prompting the entire room to start laughing. Which then made Ringo laugh so hard that the bed he was laying on started to shake, which made everyone else laugh harder. Okay, everybody’s laughing.

“You’re not gonna die, Ritchie,” Paul promised, in between little giggles as it all died down. Despite his words, he kicked his feet above himself on the couch as if he’d never had a pair before.

“Paul, not to be rude, but you’re fucking _wrong_ ,” John piped up from his spot on the floor. 

“Aye,” George said, unhelpfully, his head lolling on his neck a little bit.

“I think we’re already dead,” the leader of the band continued, running a heavy hand back through his auburn hair.

“Why’s that?” 

“Because the wall is fucking humming, lad, that’s why!” he pointed indignantly at it, pouting his bottom lip. Everyone laughed again. 

“So it is,” their bassist agreed, before his serious expression cracked and he laughed again. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then closed it. He’d forgotten what he was going to say.

“Did someone turn on a fan?” George wondered, breaking the short-lived silence, touching his face as if to brush away his hair, which was absolutely Nowhere Near his face.

“Mmm, no, but didn’t Mr. Pickle say that it does that?” John countered, scrunching up his face as if he, too, thought it was windy in this decidedly Not Windy hotel room.

“Mr. Pickle??” Ringo laughed until he wheezed a little bit, and George reached up onto the bed to pat his friend’s back, also giggling.

“Well, yeah!” John said, a little louder than necessary.

“How’d you work that one out?” Paul asked, turning so he could lay down on the couch with his head on the arm of it.

“Bob Dylan,” the auburn-haired boy explained, “Dylan, then, so Dyl, like a dill pickle, so he’s Mr. Pickle now.” Contemplative — or maybe judgmental — silence followed his thoughts, and he frowned. “Nobody?”

“Nobody,” George agreed solemnly, still trying to tuck imaginary hair behind his ears. “This is weird,” he said eventually, eyes glazed as he yawned and stretched slowly like a house cat.

“It is,” Paul said, trying to stretch out himself after catching George’s yawn, but finding his limbs relatively cumbersome and unhelpful.

“Fun, though,” John added, humming softly. Everyone muttered in agreement, and John laughed suddenly. “We should try to write a song when we’re like this, don’t you think, Paulie?”

“We should _not_ ,” the second-youngest giggled, finding the red flecks of John’s hair fascinating right about now. So… red. Why hadn’t he paid attention to that before?

“Spoilsport,” Lennon said simply. 

“Maybe,” the bassist agreed, but that was all. It got a little quiet again, except for the suddenly loud and obvious noises of the air conditioning unit humming by the window.

“I’m so fucking hungryyyyyyy,” Ringo moaned loudly and suddenly, shoving his face deep into a pillow. George giggled and reached up from his spot sitting against the bed to ruffle Ringo’s hair, earning a quiet purr. 

“God, me too,” Paul agreed, squinting at the ashtray on the table next to him. He shook his head at nothing, or maybe a thought that crossed his mind, and sunk deeper into the hotel couch.

“Didn’t we pack crackers?” George wondered aloud, falling forward and crawling heavily across the floor. He traveled slowly and vaguely in the direction of their suitcases, only to flop against John about a quarter of the way there with a quiet grunt. “Not worth it,” he mumbled, curling into the other guitarist’s side and rubbing his cheek against John’s shirt. He was acutely aware of how his five o’clock shadow caught in the fabric a little bit, and he hummed at the Odd But Not Unpleasant sensation.

“Paul, love, you’re closest,” Lennon pointed out, lolling his head on the carpet from looking at his new cuddle partner to gaze pointedly between Paul and their suitcases.

Paul, for his part, had been completely swallowed by The Couch at this point, and he gave a muffled reply that absolutely no one could decipher, though they could tell by the tone it would have been a comment about how little he cared. Everyone hummed in quiet agreement, because frankly, they couldn’t be bothered either. 

Comfortable Silence fell among them, their quiet breathing making a happy, companionable atmosphere where it almost felt like worries had no purpose, and as long as they had each other, they would be fine forever.

Naturally, John ruined it.

“Have you guys ever hugged a llama?” He asked, pulling the question straight out of Nowhere. Ringo giggled. George laughed too, and shook his head, ‘no,’ against John’s shoulder. Paul chuckled a little, somehow sinking further into The Couch.

“I haven’t,“ he said, “why?” 

“Because Haz’s hair is all up in my face, and it’s how I imagine it would feel to hug a llama,” he elaborated, sputtering a little when George’s hair got in his mouth, accidentally Proving His Point. 

“‘M sorry,” George mumbled, hardly moving. If anything, he pushed his face a little deeper into John’s warm neck. He was comfortable with his nose under the older boy’s soft jawline, so sue him. John smiled.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, wrapping both of his arms around George and pulling the both of them flush together, pleasant hums escaping both of them as they simply relaxed into one another. 

Ringo cooed a little bit, which made Paul laugh.

“I think I’d like to hug a llama, you know,” their oldest member said, eventually. 

“Yeah?” asked John, holding George tightly and leaning his head down to kiss the boy’s brown hair. The young boy giggled a little and lifted his head just enough to give John a soft and comforting kiss, mumbling something barely sensical about kissing a llama, and then pushed his head back into their leader’s neck.

“Yeah!” Ringo smiled. “Think about it, — they’re all friendly-like and poofy! I bet they’d be great to snuggle...” he sighed wistfully, mushing his face into the pillow as if it might be a llama. Paul hummed and nodded slowly, as if it took a lot of concentration to do so.

“I think a llama...” the ravenette began, shuffling around as he tried and only half-succeeded in being un-eaten by the sofa. 

“What?” John prompted, leaning slightly away from George so he could look over his shoulder at Paul, only for his snuggle partner to yank him back into place, growling sleepily and possessively. John smiled, despite himself, kissing the top of Geo’s head again as a silent apology.

“What?” Paul asked, mostly in a normal position now, blinking dumbly.

“A llama what?” John said, smiling up at Ringo, who was practically melting at how cute he thought the two boys on the floor were. 

“What do you mean?” Paul wondered, checking for dirt under his relatively short nails.

“You started to say something,” Ringo tried again, waving his hand a little as if to say, ‘go on.’

“I didn’t,” huffed Paul, and so everyone laughed at him. “Rude!” He exclaimed, before giving in and laughing himself. He couldn’t help it.

“Don’t be sour, Macca, it’s alright,” the rhythm guitarist soothed when the laughter stopped, rubbing his hand in soft and calming circles against George’s back, a satisfied smirk appearing on his face when the youngest Beatle purred sleepily.

“You snoozin’, Georgie?” Ringo asked, crawling to the edge of the bed. He received a noncommittal hum in response, which was really Just As Good As Yes.

“Poor thing must be tired,” Paul mused, “he actually answered questions today.”

“Oh, don’t tease,” John defended, smiling as George nodded just barely, or maybe nuzzled into John’s neck. “Geo’s not as quiet as they say.”

“We know,” Paul said, “he screams.” 

“Oi!” Ringo tried to stand up for George, but Paul was right and the drummer couldn’t help his own laughing, so he didn’t get any farther than that. Even the guitarist in question, half-asleep, chuckled softly and raised his hand from John just enough to give his black-haired friend The Finger. Paul laughed. 

“Am I wrong?” he chuckled some more, looking to Ringo for help.

“No, but come on. Be nice, now, I’m tired too!” the drummer said, watching with fond amusement in his eyes as John giggled, probably as George kissed his throat. 

He smiled, before pushing himself off the bed and crawling across the floor towards them, coming up behind George to make a Hazza Sandwich. “I want cuddles too, you know,” he said, relishing in the pleased noise that escaped Geo as he shuffled forward so that the younger’s back was against his front.

“Making me jealous, eh?” McCartney wondered, enjoying how bright the blue of Ringo’s eyes looked right now. Why were colors so _interesting_ today? Was that a high thing? 

“Nonsense,” John said, rolling away from George and onto his back, a high-pitched whine escaping the center of the sandwich. The youngest boy was quieted, however, as Ringo kissed the back of his neck and held him tighter still. He pushed back into the contact, head still on John’s shoulder as his breathing started to slow again. “If you get up and bring the crackers, you can cuddle too.”

“Ooh, crackers,” Ringo hummed, rather unhelpfully. George laughed a little bit, smacking his lips slightly as he tried to remain Just Sleepy Enough to be somewhat helpful but also able to drift off at any second.

“Fair enough,” and he stood from The Couch, an unhappy noise escaping him as his joints popped uncomfortably from being pressed awkwardly between the too-firm cushions of the shitty hotel room sofa. He dragged his socked toes along the floor slightly as he made his way to their suitcases, bending over to grab a crackerbox from Ringo’s. John wolf-whistled, and laughed. Paul laughed too, and so did George and Ringo. “Sod off, Lenny!”

“Aye, you love it, now get over here and join us,” John instructed, and Paul shook his head, but did so anyway. He tossed the crackerbox straight at his best friend’s face, everybody giggling at the disgruntled noise the auburnette made, before kneeling and flopping ungracefully to the floor, shimmying up to John and forcing his way between the guitarist’s arm and body, his head on John’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Paul,” Ringo smiled, opening the already half-empty box and popping a saltine into his mouth. “Fuck,” he moaned suddenly, immediately reaching into the box and grabbing a whole handful. “Oh, what the hell?” he wondered why he had never noticed how fucking _good_ saltine crackers were. John laughed at his friend’s sudden excitement and grabbed a cracker for himself. His face went alight almost instantly, and it was Ringo’s turn to laugh at the reaction.

“Oh,” he agreed, mouth full, handing the box to Paul. “You gotta try that.”

“It’s just crackers,” Paul murmured, cocking a brow and popping one into his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes lit up and he reached straight into the box to eat more. John barked a laugh with his mouth still full, and Ringo flicked his ear, earning a yelp and a Disgruntled Look. 

“M’nn’rs, l’d,” he chastised, through a bunch of crumbs, struggling not to laugh at the irony. John only glared at him and put more crackers into his mouth, humming pleasurably. Why were plain-ass saltines suddenly so fucking good??? “Georgie,” Ringo whispered, squeezing slightly in his grip around their youngest member’s waist. He held one of his crackers down by George’s face, which he couldn’t see from his angle. “Baby,” he tried again after no response, “these crackers are so fucking good, you gotta have one.”

“Mmm!” Paul agreed, happily stuffing his face at the speed of light. John turned away from housing the crackers with Paul to look at George, and he giggled softly. 

“I think ‘e’s sleeping!” he laughed quietly. Their tired bandmate just kept breathing deep and even, soft little snores escaping him every now and again, and Ringo suddenly heard it and chuckled.

“Oh!” he drew the cracker back and popped into his own mouth, making a soft noise of appreciation as he snuggled in closer to the other three, yawning a little bit. He felt tired too, come to think of it. John and Paul yawned in unison, and Ringo shook with quiet laughter at how silly they looked. The bassist reached over John and then George to knock Ringo on the head, which only made him giggle harder. 

“Do we have any more crackers?” John asked, squinting into the Damn-Near Empty box and popping four crackers into his mouth at once.

“Nah, just these,” Paul replied, munching them down as fast as he could. It was beginning to seem like he and John were in a Who Can Eat The Most Of The Remaining Crackers? contest, and Ringo giggled softly at their antics before shimmying further down so he could line his hips up with Geo’s better to make the spooning fit more comfortable. He put one arm down under his head in just the right way so that he could use his own arm as a pillow while looping his fingers loosely with John’s, and kept the other arm hooked tightly around George’s bony waist.

“Pity,” the auburnette mused, getting little flecks of salt on his sweater as he ate the crackers with reckless abandon. He was so fucking hungry, and he vaguely remembered Bob telling him that trying to quell The Munchies by giving into them was basically futile, but he didn’t care. Crackers had never tasted so good. He looked over to offer more of the snacks to Ringo, chuckling as he noticed their drummer’s shut eyes and relaxed face. “Night, Ritchie,” he whispered.

“Mmr,” the drummer answered, pushing his face into the hair at the nape of George’s neck. John looked back over to the crackerbox, peering in to find it empty. Paul was holding the last one, and without a thought, he raised his head to bite it out of Paul’s hand. 

John grinned smugly, closed-lipped, and flashed Paul a charming wink as he chewed. Paul raised himself up on one elbow and just stared, his mouth open and eyes wide in Serious Offense. His eyebrows had crept up under his bangs, and John couldn’t help but snicker at how comical the expression was.

“Yeh look stupid,” he pointed out, swallowing the last cracker and laughing harder when Paul’s face somehow got even angrier.

“John Winston Lennon,” he said, “did you just eat _my_ last cracker?” He looked legitimately offended, and the older man couldn’t help the tiny giggles that escaped him.

“Perhaps,” he managed, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t tucked under George to yank Paul down against him again.

“I can’t believe you,” Paul murmured, turning to rest his head on John’s soft chest. John smiled and pet his hair a little bit. 

“You’ll get over it,” he promised, leaning his head back onto the carpet. Paul huffed incredulously.

“You don’t know that. I _would_ break up The Beatles over a cracker. Don’t doubt me, Johnny,” he warned, but the threat lost a little bit of its venom as he sighed happily, the manufactured aroma of John’s cologne mixed with his natural smell somehow stronger and sweeter than usual as he neared the end of his high, the familiar scent so calming and comfortable that Paul’s eyes fluttered shut sleepily and he relaxed into John.

“Okay, Paul,” John whispered, squeezing him a little bit. Paul hooked his leg over John’s, sighing when his ankle touched George’s. He felt like he could lay here forever, because this was where he was meant to be, really. He leaned his head up to press a tiny goodnight kiss to John’s chin, before moving his head back. John smiled a little.

“I love you,” he mumbled into John’s sweater, and then he was out like a light. John took a few deep breaths, just relishing the feeling of George and Paul half on top of him while he held Ringo’s hand. He liked being surrounded by his boys. They filled him with a happiness that didn’t exist anywhere else, and it filled him with an overwhelming calm to have them all so close. 

“Love you too,” he whispered, and let his eyes fall closed and dreams fill his head. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The door to their hotel room opened about an hour later, and the soft creaking was followed by a soft chuckle.

“Come ‘ead, look at this,” someone with a deep and rough voice whispered, and two other figures appeared in the door. Alistair, the speaker, quietly pushed open the door to allow the other two to see.

“Aww,” Mal cooed, unable to stop himself. It _was_ cute, the four boys wrapped up in each other, you couldn’t fault him.

“How precious,” a soft, posh voice observed, and the owner of the tone smiled at them. Brian liked to see them happy, and they certainly looked it then. 

“Shouldn’t we move the poor things to the bed? The floor might make their backs hurt in the morning,” Al pointed out, his voice a quiet rumble as he tried not to alert any of the boys into waking up.

“Mm, that’ll wake ‘em,” Mal replied, partially because he knew he would be the one who had to pick them all up to move them, and he’d just gone through a long day of lifting amplifiers and stuff, no thanks. Brian wordlessly crossed the room, his normally crisp footsteps muted as he walked as lightly as he could on the carpet, grabbing some pillows off the bed. 

He knelt by their heads and gently slid his hand under Ringo’s moptop, lifting it just enough to slide a pillow underneath. The drummer let out a sigh, and his mouth twitched, but he didn’t wake up. Al seemed to get the idea, and grabbed Mal by the wrist, pulling him over to the bed. 

“Help me get the blanket out,” he ordered softly, and Mal untucked the comforter and sheet on his side easily, while Al struggled for a moment, because hotel staff seriously have a problem with how tightly they tuck sheets, and he is a PA with tiny arms compared to Mal’s fucking massive Roadie Muscles. He managed, though. 

They dragged the covers over together and laid them over the sleeping Beatles, high-fiving quietly and then stepping back to the doorway. Eppy crawled awkwardly on his hands and knees, past George, -- whose head was comfortably rested on John and was in no danger of falling into an uncomfortable position -- to John and Paul. He laid one pillow on the empty side of Paul in case he rolled away during the night. 

With gentle hands, he lifted John’s head to put a pillow beneath him. A quiet noise of confusion escaped the leader of the band, and Brian slid the pillow under him and pet his hair softly.

“Shh, it’s okay, go back to sleep,” he muttered, trying to sooth his favorite young man back into sleep. 

“Th‘nks, Bri,” John mumbled, smacking his lips and turning his head on the pillow. He looked absolutely adorable, his auburn waves tousled and face relaxed. Eppy combed his fingers through John’s hair one more time, a pleased smile on his face. He was so pretty asleep. 

“Coming, Ep?” Al asked, making the manager blink. Brian nodded, his curls bouncing slightly with the movement, and he rose to his feet. He walked around the boys and to the door, looking over his shoulder one last time before he closed the door. 

Those were The Beatles, really. Just four boys so full of love for each other. It almost made Brian’s heart sting, how cute and in love they all were.

“Goodnight.” 

Eppy turned out the light and shut the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay!! Snuggly boys!! Comments and kudos power my will to live, please let me know what you thought!! <3
> 
> \-- Doc


End file.
